


feel the sun and the rain, just feel something

by notthebigspoon



Category: Baseball RPF, White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spin-off of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/385878"> Counting The Signs and Cursing The Miles In Between</a>. What if Tim had never gone to see June? What if he'd just waited for Neal to come back to him?</p><p>Title from Mr. Sensitive by David Cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel the sun and the rain, just feel something

The clubhouse is crowded, all the guys showering and hustling and bullshitting, everyone riding the high of a hard fought win. They all have different plans for celebrating and Buster is mulling the options available when he spies Tim across the room. The pitcher is huddled by his locker, his face completely devoid of color and he looks absolutely stricken. Buster doesn't think twice, he just gets up and weaves through the room to Tim's side.

“Timmy? You okay?” Buster wants to wince, the words seem so inadequate. When Tim looks up, Buster does flinch. The last time he'd seen that look, it was the first time Tim had visited him in the hospital after the accident. Tim had had to leave because he couldn't handle it.

“Neal. It was all true. They arrested him this morning.”

He hasn't thought about that guy in weeks. A few days after he, Tim and Sandoval had hashed it out over burgers, Tim had stopped bringing it up and Buster never asked any questions. He never would have guessed that Tim was still pining after his con man. The whole situation had persisted in seeming like a surreal day dream.

Now, though, it's glaringly obvious that it wasn't and Tim is absolutely shattered. There's a small mercy in the post game interviews already being over and Buster doesn't even bother asking what Tim wants to do. He hands Tim his bag and grabs his own, steering Tim through the tunnels and out into the employee parking lot. He does all the talking and goodbyes for the both of them and when anyone looks at Tim too closely, Buster just mouths 'sick' over Tim's head and they go on their way.

Tim, who isn't always a big talker anyways, is absolutely silent. He merely buckles his seat belt and slumps against the window as Buster steers his truck out of the lot. He's still as a statue the entire drive to his home. Buster has to prompt him twice before he gets out of the truck. Buster has a key to the house Tim is renting and he opens the door, ordering Tim to the couch. Tim obeys, still silent.

Cy is eager to see Tim, snorting and whuffing when Buster picks him up. The dog tries to lick his face, forcing Buster to laugh in spite of his own somber mood as he carries the dog out to the back. The moment he's put down, Cy runs barking across the yard, leaving Buster to grab two beers and go back to Tim.

Tim is slouched so low on his couch that his ass is almost hanging off the edge and... hey. Tim's ass. Buster inwardly huffs at himself. This is so not the time to deal with his not-so-hetero mancrush on the Freak. He compensates by grabbing Tim's Wizard of Oz box set and dropping it on the coffee table before giving Tim a pointed look. There's a bolt of relief at Tim's shaky smile.

“Freeloader. Never buy your own, you're always smoking mine.”

“Yours is better.” Buster shrugs, although he only ever smokes pot when he's with Tim. “Start puffing Lincecum.”

It doesn't garner a laugh, just the smallest of smiles, so Buster continues the parade of silence until Tim has rolled and lit the joint. He takes a few drags himself before he starts waving Tim away. Tim is the one who needs to be stoned for this conversation, not Buster.

Predictably, Tim starts running his mouth halfway through his first joint.

“I'm not stupid, Posey.”

“Never said you were.”

“I knew it wouldn't work. The first time the wrong person saw us, he'd be gone. IT could have ruined my career. That guy he talked about, his partner? Or handler, whatever. Neal said he was like a bulldog. That he never let anything go, especially not Neal. It was always going to end badly.”

“But?”

“But it still hurts.” Tim says, staring at the joint like it just ran over his dog. “I had this fantasy of us making it together with a perfect happy ending. Or even running away. We joked about it.”

Buster winces. He doesn't want to think about plans Tim made with someone who wasn't him. “You'd never have left the game Lincecum. Some people might. But not you.”

“No.” Tim agrees, somewhat ruefully. “But it was nice to think about. Young, rich, on the run. Nobody to answer to but ourselves.”

“Very Bonnie and Clyde of you.”

“Not really. Neal doesn't like guns.”

Buster sighs and leans forward to place his arms on his knees. “Timmy... look. I get that you liked this guy. It was so obvious that I was almost embarrassed for you. But you can't fuck up your game over what happened. You had a great month with Neal. Keep the memory, it's a great one, but move on.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Tim doesn't look at all enthusiastic about the idea, he almost looks as if he thinks that Buster has betrayed him. But then he nods, grabs a bottle of tequila and tells Buster to put The Fellowship of the Rings in the DVD player. He says he gets one night to drink, pine and complain and then Neal Caffrey will just be a ghost of someone he used to know.

Buster drinks to that.

***

The next day's hangover is, as Tim describes it, epic. Or epic fail, something like that. Buster wakes up on the floor, face mashed into the carpet and it feels like someone is conducting a mariachi band in his skull. The retching he can hear all the way down the hall tells him that Tim's awake. Buster doesn't bother going to check on him. If Tim is groaning, he's breathing.

The destination in mind is the kitchen and the first thing he does is pour two glasses of water and shake four ibuprofen out of the bottle. He gulps down two and downs his own glass of water in one go. The other two are set next to Tim's glass of water.

By the time Tim stumbles into the kitchen, looking like death, Buster is only his third glass of water and eating a bowl of fruit loops. Buster points at the water and ibuprofen across from him and Tim moans in relief, collapsing into the chair next to Buster. He gulps down the water and pills like they're the only things that will keep him alive.

For a few minutes there is nothing but the sound of Tim breathing and Buster crunching on his cereal. Eventually, Tim gets himself a second glass of water and steals a few spoonfuls of Buster's cereal, ignoring the dirty look he receives.

“Never again.”

Buster snorts. “You always say that Lincecum. It'll be two or three weeks tops.”

“Asshole.” Tim mutters, but he's smiling and stealing Buster's cereal again. Tim's sticky fingers in regards to food is pretty much a mood barometer. The more he steals, the more likely it is that he's recovered from whatever foul mood he's been in or heartache he's encountered. “Kristen called to yell at you for not coming home last night yet?”

Buster flinches and pushes his bowl towards Tim. He isn't hungry anymore. Might as well let Tim finish it. Tim takes the bowl, beaming like a five year old as he dumps more cereal in. He shoves a spoonful in his mouth, mumbling around it, “You’re in that much trouble?”

“Kristen is in Georgia with Lee and Addy. She didn't come back with me. She's not going to, either.”

It hurts, it still hurts so much to think about, but at the same time, he feels better being able to actually talk about it. The only other person on the team who knows is Sandoval and that's because he's pretty much had the same experience verbatim. He'd been the only person that Buster had felt he could call.

Tim looks poleaxed and Buster manages to smile before sighing. “I just wasn't happy and I couldn't be the husband she deserved.”

“So you just left her?”

“It was a mutual agreement. She was upset at first. Really angry, furious. But we finally sat down and talked. She deserves a husband that can be with her and love her the way she deserves. Not a closet case trying to be what everyone told him he should be.”

“Okay...” Tim drawls, raising an eyebrow. “Processing that you're gay. I'll get back to that one. What about the kids?”

“She gets them during the season. I get to see them when I've got time to fly out and pick them up or just to see them for a day or two. And father's day. We're still working out the off season schedule but I think I'm going to get them at least half of the time then.” Buster utters the last few words fervently. His biggest fear had been losing his children. “She's been amazing, really. I was expecting the worse. She's still angry at me, sometimes, but she said she won't keep the kids from me. Reminds me why I fell in love with her. I still love her, just not the way I wish I could.”

Tim merely looks curious, bloodshot eyes anxious and more than a little hurt. “Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you trust me?”

“I never told anyone, Tim. I always sort of knew but I made myself ignore and forget it until I couldn't anymore. Kristen knew I was unhappy and I finally told her why.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Sandoval.”

“You told Pablo and not me?!”

“Yes. And before you flip out, take into consideration that he went through the exact same thing I did, only his wife wasn't as understanding as mine was. I didn't know who else to talk to. My family was out of the question.” Buster sighs. He'd known Tim would react this way.

“But you told him. Which means Molina knows and...”

“And you're the next person I had planned to tell. But you had enough of our own issues without dealing with mine too. Don't act like you think I don't trust you, Lincecum, because you had damn well better know that I do!”

Tim just smiles and knuckles Buster's head. “Keep it down, jerk, I'm still hungover. Just know I'm here for you, okay? You've been taking care of me so let me return the favor. We'll look after each other's sorry asses and try not to fuck ourselves up any more than we have already.”

Buster doesn't answer, just smiles and nods before making his way to the bathroom to shower and get ready to head to the park. By the time they leave Tim's house, they've managed to recover enough that they probably won't incur anyone's wrath for showing up hungover.

Probably. It depends on how sadistic Bochy is feeling when he sees them.

It isn't until they're suiting up later that night, when he spies Tim laughing across the room, subdued yet still so bright in that uniquely Tim way, that Buster realizes how well and truly screwed he is.

***

Buster and Tim are friends. Pretty good ones, really, but they can go a week or more without hanging out or even talking. They're busy guys, they lead a hectic life and you deal with not always getting to see someone and spend time with them. Being on the road together doesn't always count as time spent, especially not this road trip. Tim has barely spoken to Buster. They're always wanted by different people at different times in different places.

This has never bothered Tim before. There's always someone to keep him company, he's not lonely. Even if they aren't planning to, him and Buster always end up catching up later. But now, all Tim can concentrate on is who Buster is talking to instead of him and wondering what they're talking about. Surely not the divorce. News like that spreads like wildfire. If Buster had started talking about it, Tim would have already had it repeated to him by ten different people.

Even during a game where they're both just riding the pine, it's impossible to get a moment alone or any more of Buster's attention than a grin and a nod. And maybe he's just now noticing or just now paying attention but Buster's been spending a lot more time with Pablo lately. Not that they're glued to each other's hips, they're not, but Tim's pretty sure they didn't used to talk this much. To be honest, Tim's pretty jealous. He never got that kind of support when things with Neal spinned out of control.

That's what he tells himself, anyways, that it isn't fair that he didn't have someone like that to talk to. But a tiny part of him that won't give in to the denial wonders just what Posey and Sandoval need to be talking about all the time with no one else within earshot. Surely they couldn't have _that_ much to say about Buster's divorce. There's a litany of possibilities running through his mind and a few make his blood want to boil.

Belt asks if he's okay, he looks like he wants to kiss somebody's ass. Tim send him packing with a “Fuck off Belt.” that Brandon really doesn't deserve before he goes to the other end of the dugout to stew in his own misery. They score a win, but even that doesn't make him smile. His attitude doesn't earn him an invitation to any celebratory outings.

He enters the lobby of the team hotel as splinter groups of the team are leaving. Tim scans them for Buster. Almost predictably, he's with Sandoval. Cabrera and Whiteside are huddled up with him. (Eli's gone out of his way to show Melky that he doesn't hate him for replacing Sanchez.) That's not really a concern. Cabrera is straight as far as Tim knows (which doesn't mean much, really, his gaydar sucks) and Whitey is still with Sanchez. That relationship would take an act of nature to break apart. The trade was just a road bump.

But Pablo...

It's absurd. They're both his friends. And Sandoval is still crazy in love with Molina, right? Right?

“Working overtime on that crush there, Lincecum.”

Tim jumps, head whipping around so hard that it feels like he just gave himself whiplash. Bumgarner is flashing a cheesy grin and Tim glares. “What?”

“Which one is it?”

“You're not funny asshole. Like, at all.”

Bumgarner sighs, looking entirely put upon. “I was joking, you sad bastard. What's up? You've looked miserable all night.”

“Just got a lot on my mind Bum, that's all. Didn't mean to lose it. You going out to celebrate?”

“Too tired.” Bumgarner shakes his head, stretching before planting a hand on Tim's shoulders. “C'mon. Come hang out in my room, we'll watch The Walking Dead.”

“The what?”

“We'll start from the beginning. You'll see.”

Tim does. They're up until six in the morning watching the first season and when they board the plane the next day, Tim has only slept two hours. He ignores the hand wave Posey sends his way and collapses into the closest seat, immediately curling up into a ball and stuffing his earbuds into his ears. He falls asleep with his face smashed into the seat while Shinedown blasts into his head.


End file.
